As I traverse through the multitudes and the abstractness of today, the maligned reality of life, the world befalls in a transcendence. What is reality? What is fantasy? What is happiness? What is sadness? The questions form a web of complicated mess. Yet, the intriguing part of the endeavour of searching for the unknown and questioning the morality is understanding the stories they have to tell. For life is nothing but a carefully structured stories.

They say eyes are the gateway to one’s soul.

The obvious question to which is how much can be learnt from the most incredible pair. The much more obvious question is how much truth is there to it. No science can prove that eyes told a story. But science does tell you that eyes are the most expressive even when they don’t have to do anything. I fell at the behest of understanding the stories, said and unsaid. The animated conversing eyes, the silent preservering, the dark gloomy, the blazing angry, the sympathetic soft , the expressive deep, the reserved shy, the sleepy lazy, the happy content.

The most intriguing part of understanding the language of eyes is that when you find the happy eyes, you feel that involuntary happiness. It’s more of a reflex than a conscious decision. You slowly sink into that feeling and it doesn’t matter whether you understand the reason or not, but you are a part of their surreal world as you embrace the happiness. That’s when the conscious kicks in. Because it just got comfortable with something sad and this alien emotion called happiness is invading its’ space, trying to take over the their kingdom and it does its best to keep it out. Then it takes over. There is no more surreal world. The eyes, those eyes still beam with happiness inviting you to embrace it, sand forget about everything that haunts and distraughts you. But it’s too late and you just look at the happy eyes and hope that one day you will see those same eyes, that same feeling in the person standing in the mirror.